


A Heart’s Desire

by Russian_Fic_Store



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, ImpSec, Winterfair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russian_Fic_Store/pseuds/Russian_Fic_Store
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Winterfair gift to the Emperor springs a surprise.</p><p>Author: jetta_e_rus<br/>Translated from Russian by MollyGrue</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heart’s Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Заветное желание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860363) by [jetta_e_rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetta_e_rus/pseuds/jetta_e_rus). 



It was a Winterfair’s Eve. Half past three a.m.

Ezar knew full well that he was asleep. Because, the presence of an unauthorized person in his bedroom, right in his favorite armchair, together with dead silence from the Security and lack of aggressive deeds on his part, could be just that – a dream. Last time he contrived to take a flapping curtain for a real, live monster, he was six years old, and these days it was a bit too early for him to regress to childhood.

“So what?” The stranger growled petulantly, “Shall we continue playing mute? Among other things, I'm in a hurry.”

Moonlight bleached out his half-length fur coat, flooded his red hat with its green trim, streamed down the bushy beard, that spread on his wide chest like a heap of papers over the baise of a conference desk.

“It’s quite unlikely I’ve been a good boy this year.” Ezar scoffed, squinting at the well-filled sack at the feet of Father Frost. It was a good dream he was having. Plain and simple.

“I have plenty of presents for each Tom, Dick and Harry,” The guest hooted happily. “Don’t dally with me, Your Majesty. Tell me your heart’s desire.”

“And what it is that I want?” Ezar pondered, “I am the ruler of two planets and able to bestow presents myself. And, as for the miracles… well, I want Little Shit – egh, Serg, - to be blessed by some sense of duty. If not by some wits.” The wish was just plain ridiculous, sure. And perfectly impractical one.

He voiced nothing and Father Frost offered no comment, just bowed his head solemnly and stood up. The armchair creaked with relief.

“Excellent. Well, I'll be on my way. My horned hoppers’ve grown stiff on the roof.” - Father Frost grunted, lifted the bag to his shoulder, awkwardly climbed up the windowsill and, shrugging off all safety guidelines, phazed through the window. As he left, white frost patterns spread on the glass.

Or, perhaps, it was just a dream, that finally claimed of the vision of Lord and Sovereign.

***  
The Emperor would have never turned thoughts to his night’s dream, if not for the oddities, that occurred next morning.

First, there was a message from Serg on his comm, which read “Best wishes for the coming Winterfair, my Sire and my Liege”. It arrived in the morning. In winter, Serg usually woke up at sunset. As Ezar surmised once, very privately, he must have had vampire for a son, - in view, to a part, of the amount of life-blood the said son drained from his regal father.

Ah! Really, that should explain everything! Serg must have pulled some trick yesterday, hence currently was trying to act out a good boy. Ezar growled at Negri, just in case, and requested a detailed report on his son’s yesterday activities, only to have his request countered with succinct: “The Crown Prince visited Caravanserai. No fires or public disturbances occurred at the location specified.”

A call to Serg clarified nothing. Shaven clean and dressed in his uniform, the Crown Prince uncharacteristically averted his eyes, but eventually confessed that he was going to visit the General Staff to attend to his duties as an Admiral in the Imperial Military. For a nick of a second Ezar lost his speech, - quite a rare mishap, in his case, - and his son used it to round the conversation up, hastily saying his byes.

It was right then, that Ezar remembered his night Visitor. The One-Who-Could-Not-Be-Real, for a fact, but, under the circumstances, this knowledge offered no deliverance.

What he had wished Serg to be blessed with, in his drowse? “Some sense of duty, if not some wits?” And, it is common knowledge that the desire of a monarch is law...

Ezar slumped in that very armchair heavily, automatically making his fingers into the “devil’s horns”,- a folksy sign to avert evil eye, - and ordered Negri to report on the Heir's behavior every half-hour.

His sense of foreboding did not lie. During the day Serg had delivered a speech at the General Staff meeting, notified the Commandant of Imperial Academy that Commodore Vorrutyer was going to conduct a special course, added the second, – and quite sloppy, - shoulder knot to the sketch of Palace Guard uniform in his own hand, requested a copy of Machiavelli's work with politically approved commentary from Grishnov's office and sent his wife a bouquet of white lilies (which caused poor Karееn to spring the usual allergy-induced migraine)

Worser than the Ordinary Crown Prince, Ezar mused sulkily, could be only Crown Prince with Initiative. And the usual daddy's thrashing, which routinely made Serg blush, then turn pale, bunch his fists and storm out of the Emperor's Study, - and ensured some peace and quiet for the next coming days, - hadn't helped matters. If only wits could be transferred to order...

“Really, no matter how ill I've behaved this year, I surely did not deserve such a mean deal from the frigging fictional character!” The Emperor of Barrayar reasoned. Then he reached for his comm. It was time to order ImpSec medics to provide some sort of... a tranquilizer. Good old valeriana root for him, and a reliable imported prolonged-action remedy for Sergie...

But Negri called first.

***  
“... an attempt to substitute Crown Prince with an impostor has been foiled.” The ImpSec Chief reported, white-faced and resolute. “The participants of the coup have been apprehended, including the double, investigation is under way. The real Serg is safe in the palace, under the eye of my men. His Highness is a bit upset by the scrutiny, but, in his current condition, does not attempt to resort to force... Hangover he has,” Negri commented dryly. “And a formidable one. He can't even recall that they tried to kidnap him at Caravanserai yesterday. So, he is raising some rumpus, but not too loud.”

Ezar, having just conquered the stress, eyed his faithful ImpSec Chief with rare tenderness. This was the one, who could treat his Sovereign to a really valuable and well-timed Winterfair gift! Not that... imaginary old codger with a sack.

Speaking of that, have to adopt security measures to keep him out, that bearded pest.


End file.
